


Maybe

by elleisforlovee



Series: (None Of It Will Be) Worth It [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ...eventually, Because we have two episodes left AND SHE WANTED TO BE HIS FAMILY, But also be positive?, F/M, Fix-It, Gendrya - Freeform, Headcanon, I just...I'm angry...and confused, Join me in seething, Let me seethe, SO THEY'RE GOING TO BE FAMILY ALRIGHT?, i'm not even sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 09:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleisforlovee/pseuds/elleisforlovee
Summary: A bit of Gendrya wish fulfillment after the disaster that was 8x04. How things should have gone after the Battle of Winterfell and a better exploration of Arya's headspace before she leaves with the Hound. This is what I believe Maisie Williams was referring to when she said Arya was "torn" this season.





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose this is a fix-it fic. I know it has been done a million times already but last episode had me so angry and I just needed to get this out. This story has a very central theme, one that I have been clutching onto all week...my honest belief and my hope as we head into these final two episodes. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow night. I don’t know who will die (it might be me at this rate) but I’m trying to stay positive. All I know is that as a storyteller it doesn’t make sense to me to bring these characters back in this way and to have it be the end. Nope. So excuse all 5,000 words of wish fulfillment that are about to follow...

Arya didn’t remember much of it afterward. The shards of ice that had once been the Night King disappeared around her and then her vision caught Bran’s. He wore an almost indiscernible smug smirk while she tried to catch her breath. Arya assumed now that she collapsed shortly thereafter. All the adrenaline pumping through her veins had vanished in a single blow delivered by valyrian steel. It was the only explanation.

 

Blinking open her eyes, Arya noted that the room around her was familiar but the world outside the nearby frosted window was not. There was no fear today, no sense of urgency. The furs that covered her no longer felt suffocating and the heat of the fire, for once, insisted that she stay in bed instead of pulling her from it. Everything had felt stifling the day before, her head a whirlwind of emotions she had long ago pushed down. So desperately she wanted to be Arya Stark and yet she found herself clinging to No One. She wondered if she’d ever be that girl again, the one with the heart that craved adventure instead of vengeance — a girl without a list.

 

Arya wasn’t sure if it were a dream or a wish, this idea of the man who had brought her to this very bed - not her brother Jon but the man she loved in a different way, the man she had laid with - the man she still had so much to say to because he was once a boy she had fallen very much in love with. She had been a girl then too.

 

Someone had left a washbasin for her but the water had turned cold and the cloth that laid beside it felt stiff. Arya wondered how long she had been sleeping. The cool blue sky outside did little to reveal a date or even a time; the early morning in Winterfell often looked like dawn. Arya shifted out of bed to wash up. She was in a shift and as she reached up she noticed the pain in her head was less persistent. Perhaps it was the blow to her head that had her collapsing or maybe it was just exhaustion. Parts of the night were so blurry she barely remembered them at all.

 

Her skin was free of grime and her hair felt soft. She smelled good too. Arya could only guess that Sansa had insisted on the treatment but if her sister knew her at all it was she who performed each task. Arya never favored an audience and she was especially private when it came to her own care. It didn’t matter if she had defeated the Night King, or that she’d survived at all. Arya had lived on her own for so long the mere touch of someone else felt foreign. It had been like that for years now, at least until the night before the battle. There he was — Gendry — clouding her mind as flashes of their shared night blended with all of the memories that came before it. It seemed there was little she could do to escape him and she certainly didn’t think it would be like this. Arya didn’t even think she’d survive so she’d never let her mind wander in the afterglow of their lovemaking. In fact, she remembered now that she had cried then, overtaken by how she felt about him and how he’d never know. He couldn’t know now.

 

All of her ached, her bones and muscles feeling tight and stiff, resisting each move she made to rid herself of the threadbare shift. Someone was wise enough to lay out a clean outfit for her: comfortable breeches and a thick tunic. A suede doublet she didn’t recognize laid beside each item, its collar and sleeves lined with fur. Despite the warmth each article provided she still felt naked. Needle was nowhere to be found. In fact, her belt was missing completely.

 

At the door Arya braced herself. Again she thought of him, her blacksmith, and she opened her door with him in mind. The very real truth of the situation hit her, accompanied by a strong gust of wind from the hallway. Somehow she’d caught a moment just in time, one that found Jon and Sansa together and walking toward her quickly. They were not who she wanted to see, though Arya had to admit she was altogether relieved to see them both alive and unscathed. With that knowledge it was easy for her to slam her door shut, bracing her weight against it as she felt their presence near. She had done what she needed to do, Arya thought, and she wanted no part of the aftermath.

 

“Arya!” A rap accompanied the muffled voice, that belonging to Jon. Sansa would never yell, though it seemed she had wanted to. Lady Stark had seen her sister’s actions before they were even complete, predicting the way Arya would hide away. It appeared Arya could face the Night King just as easily as she could ignore her own family. Sansa had done her best to understand Arya and forgive her sister and herself for the little they had in common but this was an oddity she couldn’t ignore.

 

“Arya, come out please,” Sansa begged, her voice much calmer.

 

“I’m fine!” she called back.

 

“Are you? Then come out. We’re—”

 

“No, I’m fine here,” she assured now with fingertips that dug into the wood of her door. “Can...can someone fetch some water? I’m parched,” she attempted to divert.

 

Outside it seemed slightly successful as Sansa turned to Jon, both silently contemplating before looking back to the door. Sansa spoke first. “Well, sure but—”

 

“Great. Thanks.”

 

Jon looked to Sansa once more and sighed before taking a step forward. “Arya. It’s just me.”

 

“Liar!” There was the patter of heels and Arya couldn’t help but to roll her eyes. “I know you’re still there, Sansa.”

 

Sansa exhaled too, deeming Arya hopeless as she had so many times before. The redhead’s absence allowed Jon to lean in, knocking again. “Arya, we just want to make sure you’re okay. Everyone’s been worried.”

 

Arya waited, her breath caught somewhere between optimism and blind curiosity, stunted ultimately by pain of the unknown. “Who?”

 

Jon paused once more. There was an ironic beat. “Everyone.”

 

Arya breathed out and turned so she was now facing the door, her hands on the latch she wasn’t even aware she had shifted into its locked position. She fumbled with the cool metal and allowed the heavy panel to fall open only slightly. She saw Jon, his face slightly scraped but still handsome as ever, all of him wrapped in furs and smiling. Arya looked past his shoulder to see the hallway truly empty.

 

Jon smirked but did not advance. “What are you doing?”

 

“I don’t want any attention.”

 

“Then you won’t get any attention,” he conceded, as if that was something he could have promised even if he had still been King of The North.

 

Arya didn’t believe him but she opened the door nonetheless. It was a slow process of Jon entering but Arya worked quickly once he was inside, immediately locking the door behind him.

 

“It’s safe out there. I promise.”

 

“It’s not that I just...I want privacy.” Arya was also terrified in a way she hadn’t been in some time. There was a fate that existed far beyond the corridor, down the steps and through the courtyard. If it existed at all, it’d be in the forge — _he’d_ be in the forge. It was the fear that he wouldn’t exist that had Arya hiding like a scared child.

 

Jon shook his head. He had rode a dragon and fallen in love with a queen and he was still mildly oblivious. “Even with the...Winterfell has never been King’s Landing. It’s tight quarters. Did we ever get privacy around here?” he attempted in jest.

 

Arya thinks of Gendry, of her blacksmith, her best friend turned lover. The world had given them privacy...her mind drifted off as she tried to discern the day. She sighed instead. “I’m not a hero. I’m just the person that killed the Night King. That’s it.”

 

Jon chuckled. “Yeah. That’s it.”

 

Arya had to smirk too. “How long have I been out?”

 

“A little over a day. We tried to bring you food and tea but—”

 

“I can get my own.”

 

“They’re preparing for a feast. If you’re wanting to avoid attention I don’t know if the kitchens are the place to go. I’m sure Sansa is already bringing something up.” Arya raised a brow. “I’m sure she’s sending someone up,” Jon corrected, causing them both to smirk knowingly.

 

“How’s your Dragon Queen?”

 

“She’s your Dragon Queen too.”

 

“I have no queen. No king either.”

 

“You’re done well on your own Arya but it’s time you accept the world around you. It’s safer. We’re safe. You’re safe,” he emphasized. “At least for now.”

 

“Like you said, I do well on my own.”

 

Jon tried again. “Daenerys lost Jorah. She’s having a rough time. But she’s managed to come out of her room more than you have. Say what you want about her but it’s what makes a good ruler. Her people need her direction so she’s present, even when she doesn’t want to be.”

 

“Good for her.” Arya stands up and goes to the window. “That’s why she’s the Queen and I am not.”

 

Jon turned back to the door, his hand already on the latch. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

 

“A weapon.”

 

He froze. “What?”

 

“I dropped my weapon. I had it specially made and I lost it—“

 

“What do you need it for?”

 

“You know why I need it,” Arya gritted, overcome by an inexplicable and abrupt irritation. _Maybe he didn’t know_ , she thought.

 

Jon sighed and stood up. “I’ll see if it’s in the smithy.”

 

“How’s...okay,” her voice settled softly but unsure.

 

Jon paused. “Are you okay? I’m—”

 

“I’m fine,” Arya bit back once more. If her head wasn’t still spinning she might have felt bad. Perhaps considering that possibility meant she already did.

 

“Right. Well they’re clearing most of the courtyard. The fields are cleared, the Godswood is somehow untouched. We’ll burn the bodies tomorrow morning.”

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“Yes, tomorrow.”

 

“How many did we lose?”

 

“Half.”

 

Arya let silence fill the air, almost in dismissal of her brother. “How long until we head for King’s Landing?”

 

Jon inhaled sharply, this time not bothering to turn back to her as he opened the door, inviting the cold back in. “I’ll be leaving in a week.”

 

Arya just nodded. “A week then.”

 

~!~

 

She attended the burning. It looked like the pyres stretched past the horizon, too many bodies to count. Already the smoke from the torches was floating upward in wisps of black that seemed to vanish just as easily as the lives of all the pseudo-soldiers that laid before them. Arya’s eyes burned, though likely for different reasons. They darted about quickly in an attempt to locate Gendry without actually moving her body. Even the smallest crane of her neck was unacceptable, she had told herself.

 

He arrived late, one of the last to filter in. He stood at the front, his shoulders squared and his arms pulled behind him rather solemnly. His face was like stone and he lacked a coat. He had clearly been in the forge and the heat here didn’t affect him the way it had her, or really any other survivor in attendance. Her gaze existed to seek him out; she hadn’t known his fate previously and now she did. But he surely knew that she had survived and yet he didn’t look to her.

 

The unsettling fact hit her hard, causing Arya to assume a similar position: stoic and unaffected. She swallowed, remembering her training as she looked forward in resolve. Black smoke filled the air. Just as quickly as the burning ceremony had begun, everyone cleared out. The heat was too much, the flames too high. Arya slowed her pace, wondering if maybe in the quiet chaos he’d search for her but instead she lost him again as he vanished in the soot covered distance.

 

~!~

 

She didn’t attend the feast. Her mind was already at King’s Landing, somehow incapable of living in the present or planning for a future. Arya was amazed she was alive, she didn’t think the God of Death would grant her another chance and what she had planned would surely cause her to need one.

 

She expected to be angry and she certainly was, though she found herself reacquainted with an unfamiliar feeling. It was somewhere between sorrow and guilt and it meant the most coming from him because even her banishment of the Night King didn’t persuade his opinion. Whatever she had done, Gendry was still clearly unable to forgive her. And Arya wouldn’t expect anything less.

 

She found solace in the grain store, still feeling him all around her. Her fingers plucked at each arrow, releasing them like a bated breath. Each one hit the intended target and each time Arya moved on, feigning numbness and forging on as if she still had something to prove.

 

She was about to let another arrow go flying through the air but she saw Gendry, his broad frame passing by as if she failed to exist at all. It was only then that she tossed down her bow and walked toward him. Arya didn’t wish to reveal herself but she _wanted_ to see him. She _needed_ to see him, especially now that her fingers were idle and still missing his touch.

 

“Gendry!”

 

With curled fists he didn’t hesitate; he stopped but did not turn around. Gendry paused, still contemplating walking away — ignoring her like she had been ignoring him. He straightened up and strided forward, standing at the precipice of the tunnel, a prison-like barrier separating him from the girl he wanted to strangle almost as much as he wished to kiss her. Beyond Arya were the same bags of grain they’d made love on. It had felt like that then: real and raw and right. Now he didn’t know what it was. Her attitude toward him had him questioning everything, even after the Queen’s announcement in the hall.

 

“Thanks. For what you did,” he mumbled.

 

“I...sure.” Arya exhaled but it did nothing to relieve her chest of its tightness. If he thought her heartless he clearly couldn’t see the pressure of her heartbeat and how it had a distinct sound, thudding in her ears.

 

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

 

“Me?” Arya blinked. _Had he been? Hadn’t she been the one to call after him?_

 

“Who else?”

 

“Why?”

 

“ _Why?_ ” Gendry shook his head and laughed. “I find myself asking the same thing. Since it happened...I survived and you survived and I thought—”

 

“I didn’t think I’d survive. You knew that.”

 

“Neither did I. But you did. I did. We’re here and you’re acting like I don’t exist. Like what happened didn’t actually happen.”

 

“It’s not...I’m not. I’ve been avoiding everyone,” she deflected.

 

“And I was stupid to think I’d be any different that the rest of them. I thought...” He laughed again. The sound, usually a comfort, had Arya startled. “I was stupid.”

 

“You’re not...Gendry, no…” He was already walking away. The step Arya took toward him had her inching further and further away from her training. She was incapable of being emotionless with him. In his presence she was never just a girl with a list. She was just a girl and now it was very clear how this boy felt about her. “GENDRY!” she called, the realization slipping out of her mouth loudly and unapologetically.

 

Perhaps he hadn’t ignored her when she called after him the first time because above all else she was a Lady. Maybe that didn’t matter now, not with his newly gained title, but she didn’t know that and although the world would soon see them as equals he never quite believed he’d be on Arya’s level. If he had, if he even wished it, he would have been foolish to follow her all those years ago. But would they be here now?

 

Maybe. Maybe they’d be further. Maybe they wouldn’t have waited until death was eminent for everything they felt for one another to be displayed so boldly. They didn’t say it but they didn’t need to.

 

Before he turned away Gendry saw the outline of them left behind on the bags of grain. Even a battle hadn’t erased that. Their night was still so untouched, innocent in a way he couldn’t shake. So he ignored her now, not because he was a Lord but because he didn’t care that she was a Lady. He treated her as she always wanted, knocking her off the pedestal she always swore she didn’t wish to stand upon. They were human and they were alive and the blood pumping in their veins gave him all the permission he needed to walk away from her.

 

~!~

 

“Why are you up? Everyone’s asleep...”

 

Gendry looked up. He didn’t need to see her to know she was there. He had felt her enter moments earlier and he was thankful for the courage she needed to gather. It seemed he needed time to do the same. 

 

“These weapons aren’t going to repair themselves,” he bit back, still not turning her way. 

 

Arya waited, though for what she wasn’t sure. He owed her nothing; she owed him everything. “I’m sorry.” It was a start. 

 

Gendry paused. Then abruptly tossed what he was working into the slack tub. The water splashed in emphasis. “Me too.”

 

“What are you sorry for?”

 

“What happened shouldn’t have happened.” His voice was flat — convincing. 

 

“Oh. Right.”

 

“That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

 

“I...yes...no.”

 

“Which one is it?”

 

“I thought I was going to die, Gendry.”

 

“And you wanted to know what it felt like. You said that. Now you know.”

 

“It was...good.”

 

He laughed. “Good.”

 

“Why are you being cold?”

 

“Because you’ve been cold to me!” He tossed aside his hammer. Sparks flew and he took a step toward her. “I was terrified, Arya! I woke up and you were gone and then I didn’t see you. At all. No one had seen you...not that I had much time to ask. Then it all stopped and all of me hurt and all I could think about was you—”

 

“Gendry...”

 

“Let me finish!” She looked away and he calmed himself down with a sharp inhale. “Jon carried you back. I thought you were dead and I wanted to go to you but I couldn’t. What would I say? So I waited and watched as he brought you up to your chambers. I figured if you were dead he would have brought you elsewhere. I don’t know. Word spread quickly that you were sleeping so repairs began and I got back to work. But I never stopped thinking about you. Then I hear you’re awake and I waited. I thought you’d at least come say hello. I had accepted that it was just a fuck to you but we’re friends so I thought—” 

 

“We’re not.”

 

“What?”

 

“I mean it wasn’t. Just a fuck.”

 

Gendry shook his head and made his way back to his workstation. “You don’t have to lie. You killed the Night King, Arya. You owe me nothing.”

 

“I owe you an explanation!”

 

“Well maybe I don’t want it. Your actions have been enough. You’ve made yourself very clear.”

 

“I don’t think I have—”

 

“No, you have!”

 

“You’re so bloody pigheaded! Will you just shut up?”

 

Gendry looked livid. He waited but Arya felt her heart beating and wondered if she’ll pass out again. So she said nothing and left wondering why she’d come at all. Almost immediately the sound of steel on steel started in again, a rebound like no other. 

 

~!~

 

Arya couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. It wasn’t allowed in Braavos and she swore she’d been so empty after that she’d never cry again. Even in the pursuit of her old self she’d been unable to feel so deeply. Things were different when matters of the heart were involved, specifically when her heart was no longer hers to have. She was feeling everything she had been holding back, for her and for Gendry.

 

She had left a note for him in the forge in a place only he’d find it. She had studied him long enough to know where that was. Originally it was going to hold her explanation but Arya quickly decided against that. She had been selfish all those nights ago and she was still selfish now. She wanted to see him. She wanted him.

 

She waited for what felt like hours. Eventually she chose to distract her mind, burning a kettle continuously by the fire, one by one each pour working to fill the large tub that stood nearby. All of her still hurt when she stepped inside, naked and freezing even beneath the too-hot water. Her skin was pink, almost angry looking, but somehow she fell asleep.

 

When she awoke it was not because she’d slipped and gone under, though the realization dawned on her as she blinked her eyes open and saw the state she was in. Instead it was a knock on the door, a reminder that the night had advanced, confirmed by the cold water surrounding her. Bathwater cascaded off her form as she stood and grabbed for the nearby linen towel. She wore it like a blanket, holding it tight to her form but doing nothing to encourage it to perform its intended task. Droplets fell around her skin, dripping onto the floor and pooling at her feet when she finally moved to stand by the door. Her hair was pushed back and weighed down by bathwater, that too sliding dancing down her fire-kissed skin, landing upon her back and disappearing to her clavicle and below.

 

Tossing open the door, Arya felt her vision blur. Her feet, previously planted firmly on the ground, seemed unsteady all at once. It could have been Jon or Sansa or a handmaiden, all come in to check on her but it was _him_ and she was naked under the towel she wore.

 

“I...your lips are purple,” Gendry tossed out quickly. It was clearly not what he planned to say.

 

“I fell asleep in the tub.”

 

“You’ll be fine if you don’t spend every hour of sunlight sparring with Brienne and Pod in the courtyard. I can only imagine that tires a person out. Especially after…”

 

“You saw me?”

 

“I’m angry. Not blind.”

 

Arya looked down, stepping back. “Come in.”

 

Gendry did not move. “You should get dressed.”

 

“Yeah well you shouldn’t be standing at my chambers—” She whined, almost childlike.

 

“You invited me.” Arya raised a brow, finding his challenge gave her hope. This was cemented when he stepped inside, causing her to shuffle backward. “I almost didn’t come,” he insisted as he turned around to shut the door. “I don’t know why I did.”

 

“I’m glad you did.”

 

“You’ll get changed then? I’ll turn around.”

 

Arya shook her head and only clutched the towel closer to her body. “It’s fine.”

 

“Fine then. You wanted to talk. Talk.”

 

Arya paced in front of the fireplace then stopped. “It wasn’t just a fuck.”

 

“Yes, you said that.”

 

“And I meant it. It wasn’t. It meant a lot to me.”

 

“The first time usually does.”

 

“Not because of that. Because of...it was you. I wanted it to be you—”

 

“Because I had experience?”

 

“No, because you respect me. For me. As a friend. As a woman. If every girl could be so lucky...”

 

“If every man could be so cursed,” he parlayed.

 

Arya gave him a face, one that revealed her hurt and anguish and apology in a painful way. “I wanted you, Gendry. And not because I thought I was going to die...I thought _we_ were going to die. I know how I’ve felt for a long time. But...”

 

“Don’t, Arya. Please.”

 

“You don’t feel the same way?”

 

“It doesn’t matter what I think or feel, Arya. You’re right, we didn’t die. It just confirms that we don’t work on any other level. I’m a bastard and you’re a lady. It matters. It matters because it’s always mattered and the Night King may be dead and the world may owe you a debt that can’t be repaid but I’m not that debt.”

 

“You’re right.”

 

“Can I go now?”

 

“Do you want to?”

 

“What do you want me to say? That this is hard? That my heart is breaking because you’re here, half naked and I can’t even look you in the eye?”

 

“I’m not half naked. I’m fully naked.”

 

“Enough!”

 

Arya took a step. “This is hard for me too. It’s why I didn’t come find you. I wanted you Gendry and I still want you but...it doesn’t feel like it’s over. It’s not. There’s still a war to be won.”

 

“I don’t care!”

 

“I do!”

 

“I’ll be fine! I’m arming the men and I’ll ride in late with Davos. By the time we get there—“

 

“I may be gone by then.”

 

“What?”

 

“You know I have a list, Gendry. An unfinished list that can’t—”

 

“What? You can’t be serious...”

 

“I am. That’s why I didn’t come find you. I...this isn’t fair to you, Gendry. That night wasn’t fair either but I thought I’d die before the guilt set in.”

 

“I think I can decide what’s fair.”

 

“Why would you do that to yourself? I just told you I could be dead—” He cut her off with a fierce kiss, teeth clashing as they both inhaled — hard. Her towel fell down her shoulders, exposing the swell of her breasts, still damp from her bath and now heaving as his kisses left her breathless.  

 

“That’s not an option...” he murmured before claiming her mouth again.

 

“It’s my only option. I promised...I have to...” She was talking between kisses but his mouth had her dizzy. It seemed she _did_ have another option, to give in and let him ravage her. Arya wasn’t sure if Gendry was convincing her to stay or convincing himself to not care when she leaves. It was all a lie anyway.

 

“I love you.”

 

Gendry stood, pushing Arya away. “What?”

 

“I love you. I shouldn’t but I do. But I want you to find happiness and I don’t want you to wait for me and when I don’t come back, if you make it, I want you to fall in love with someone perfect for you and not to think about me.”

 

“Do you really think this will all be that easy?” His lips were swollen and Arya wondered if she looked the same. He kissed her with such urgency she considered the possibility that her mouth was bruised.

 

“No. But it’s what I want. I thought if you hated me it’d be easier.”

 

“It probably would be.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He leaned in, his words like butterfly kisses against her lips. “But I can’t hate you.”

 

All at once Arya was ignited again, this time not only by Gendry’s mouth upon hers but by the touch he shared, first by cupping her cheeks then resting down, further, gripping her hips with a force that was somehow comforting. Arya deliberately let her towel fall off her shoulders, exposing herself to him. Gendry’s hands were everywhere and hers were too, pushing his coat off and instantly gripping his tunic to pull it from beneath his belt. The leather fell to the floor and Gendry kicked out of his boots. With their goal a shared one, they worked in tandem, stripping him of everything until he too was naked and they were stumbling back toward her bed.  

 

Arya jumped up into his arms, locking her legs around his waist and reating the most delicious friction. All of the exhaustion she’d previously felt was equal parts lust and adoration. Gendry somehow managed to sit on the edge of the bed in a way that was tender. Arya trusted him to hold her weight and the grip she had around his neck slacked immediately, encouraged by the way his tongue tasted her skin and his hand, incredibly calloused, was gentle against her thigh. Both actions had her repositioning herself around him. She was wet and Gendry could feel her heat so close to his own. His cock throbbed, the tip red and wanting. Arya bumped his erection and he had to hiss out of the kiss they were lost in. She only smiled before shifting to kneel, each knee beside him. Gendry waited, wondering if she had found her senses and was ready to end this. Instead she grabbed ahold of his cock and lined it up with her cunt. Easily she slid onto his length and Gendry grunted out, burying his moan in her hair now with eyes tightly shut. Ecstasy surrounded them, all of their shared need passing back and forth with each met thrust. Somehow the pair had been softer the first time. They were rough now, as if this were their last night — maybe in a way it was.

 

Close now, Arya couldn’t help but to allow her mouth to open, a whine escaping as her hands sought purchase at the nape of Gendry’s neck. Her fingernails, usually dirty, dug crescent moons into his skin, turning the skin white until they flushed, blood pumping at his skin now glistening with sweat. Arya looked similar and Gendry found it difficult to discern between the moisture of her bath and the moisture of their lovemaking. He muffled her final scream with his hand. He didn’t want this moment to end but it soon would and Arya felt it too as he released, spilling his seed inside of her. Her body went limp but Gendry sat strong on the bed, still clinging to her skin. She bit his hand in dismissal and they both laughed. In its absence they joined in a sloppy kiss, one interrupted by the smiles they couldn’t quite shake.

 

He stood, his hands steady on her backside as he gently laid her down. The featherbed depressed beneath her, then even more so when he flopped down beside her. Both did their best to catch their breath as they stared at the ceiling. Arya still felt him between her legs, especially now as his cum began to leak out of her, wetting the sheets below. She didn’t move to clean herself up and he certainly didn’t seem to mind when her sticky skin graced his own, her leg lacing through his as she rolled into his side.

 

“I love you too,” he finally said, still looking upward.

 

Arya didn’t say anything. She kissed his pulse point and soon Gendry was pulling at the furs at the bottom of her unmade bed with the intention of covering them up. Both were warm but even a satisfying fuck was no competition for a cold Winterfell night. _But this wasn’t a fuck_ , Gendry reminded himself, almost having to laugh.

 

“I need to get out of here,” he followed. Reality rushed back into his senses and he almost sat up at the mere thought of anyone finding him in Arya’s bed.

 

“Don’t. Stay.” Her words were like a promise, one she couldn’t keep.

 

Arya faded off almost immediately after. In the silence, Gendry felt still — calm — as he looked adoringly down at her. “You too.”

 

~!~

  


Gendry woke up and Arya was gone. It’s _not_ fair. It _wasn’t_ fair. _She was absolutely right._ But he wouldn’t change it. He was selfish too. He needed as many memories of her as she’d let him because he did love her and the previous night, beneath the shared light of the fire and the moon, he believed her. Not only when she said she’d leave him but that she loved him too. _She_ loved _him_.

 

He was a Lord now. He didn’t share that with her and maybe he never would. Maybe he’d never get the chance because he’d die too. Honestly that was what he wanted, even laying in her bed in her childhood home after a night so blissful even he found his eyes pricked over with tears, his throat tight. None of this seemed real; maybe he was dead already. Maybe last night had been a dream and this wasn’t Winterfell at all but Storm’s End. Maybe Arya was months gone and he was sad and lonely and drunk, just like his father.

 

Or maybe she’d come back to him. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe (had to) it wasn’t clear but I truly believe Arya said no to Gendry because she thinks she’s going to die. She could have easily reacted differently but she didn’t. She looked at him like he was the world and then she kissed him and turned him down in the most genuine way. My prediction is she’s going to row up to Storm’s End and be like:
> 
> ****“I said I wouldn’t be a Lady. I don’t want to be your Lady. I want to be your family.”
> 
> There’s no other alternative at this point. This is my canon. 
> 
> ((This was far from my best writing. If you follow any of my other stuff you also know this was way more stream of consciousness than I typically write. I honestly just had a lot of feelings and needed to get them out. If you made it this far - congrats. And I love you. And you should review so we can commiserate!))


End file.
